


Moving Day

by silverlining99



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-17
Updated: 2009-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy gets domestic. Jim reaps the benefits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Day

Jim had this entire plan in place, honestly, for the day Bones officially moves in. He thought he’d give a shot at a romantic scene, all lowered lights and soft music and calling in pretty much every favor he can remember from the guys in the mess to get the best meal ever prepared in outer space.

Instead he winds up spending the entire day in a terse stand-off with two Klingon ships and trudges back to his quarters with a PADD full of the incident reports that have to be filled out and transmitted to Starfleet without delay. When he walks in, Bones is there, and the lights are bright and there's not a storage crate in sight. Bones is just shaking out a comforter across Jim’s -- *their* bed. “Whatcha doing?”

Bones straightens up and glances at him. “Changing the sheets -- mine are better than yours. How in god's name did you ever get any sleep on that sandpaper?”

Jim shrugs. “Sheets are sheets. I don't think I would have pegged you for a thread count snob, Bones. Do you want to inspect my towels next? Can't do anything about them being standard issue, but I'm sure you can find a problem with how I fold them or something.”

“Don't get smart with me,” Bones says with a scowl. Jim grins and collapses into a chair to dig into his paperwork. “Everything settled?”

“More or less. Probably only because I couldn’t reach through the view screen to punch the bastards for the crap they were saying, and even I know insulting the _Enterprise_ is not quite grounds for launching torpedoes.”

Snorting, Bones turns his attention back to the bed, tugging the comforter around to get it evenly placed. “Glad to hear that, at least. Scotty agree?”

“Are you kidding me?” Jim laughs and props his feet up on the table. “You know, he has this vein in his forehead I never noticed until today, when it became just about the *only* thing I could notice. Really gotta think twice about letting him be on the bridge during this kind of crap.”

“Maybe a good idea.” Bones smooths practiced hands across the bed, wiping away bumps and wrinkles, then picks up one of the pillows piled on the floor and tucks it beneath his chin so he can ease a pillowcase over the end. As he shakes the pillow down into the fabric, Jim watches and smiles absently to himself. Bones, with his eerie sixth sense for knowing when Jim is up to no good in his thoughts, looks at him with narrowed eyes. "What?"

"What?" Jim echoes innocently.

"Yeah, *what*?”

Jim stares at him, at the way his hands are still moving, clutching and loosening fistfuls of the pillow held between them. He smiles to himself. “Nothing.”

Bones glowers at him for another moment, then stalks slowly over. “Jim. *What*?”

Jim drops his feet off the table and sets his PADD aside. “I told you, it’s nothing,” he says with a smirk.

“Don’t give me that,” Bones gripes, and throws the pillow at his face. Jim catches it easily and throws it back. “I know that look, Jim. You’re plotting something.”

“Yeah,” Jim admits readily. “Definitely plotting. Scheming, even.”

“Should I be worried -- what am I saying, of *course* I should be worried.” Bones rolls his eyes. “Damn it, Jim, spit it out already.”

Jim smirks. “I was thinking more along the lines of swallowing, but hey, if spitting is your thing tonight --”

Bones goes still. His eyes darken. “You’re busy.”

"And you're nesting," Jim replies. He smiles outright at Bones's taken-aback expression, at the way his mouth opens to protest the accusation. "You *are*. I've been hard at work avoiding intergalactic crises and you've been here cleaning and unpacking and making the bed and --"

Bones closes the last bit of distance between them and tosses the pillow aside, grabs Jim by the front of his uniform shirt and hauls him out of his seat. "Would you prefer I live out of a box, ready to be gone again on a moment's notice?"

"No," Jim says quickly. He hooks an arm around the back of Bones's neck and kisses him hard. "I will hide everything you own if that's what it takes to make you stay put."

"Jim, I hate packing, why the hell do you think it took me so long to move in here? I'm not going anywhere now." Bones tips his head and seals their mouths together for a teasing moment, tongues at Jim's lips. "You're stuck with me, sorry."

Jim pushes close, slips a hand under Bones's shirt to palm the broad expanse of his lower back. "When're you gonna learn there's no point in making the bed when I'm around?"

"If I don't make it," Bones growls, and twists Jim on his feet, shoves him back towards the furniture in question, "we don't get to *un*make it. That too complicated a concept for you?"

"I think I got it, thanks," Jim laughs, and pulls away to flop down on his back. He wriggles around, intentionally mussing the tidy spread of blanket as he sits up and starts working on his boots. When he realizes Bones is standing there, still, watching him wrestle the stupid clunky things off, he frowns. "You need to be naked for this, too, you know. That's sort of how it works."

Bones twists a skeptical smirk at him, his eyes dark. Jim has about six different flashbacks at once. "Okay," he adds, a little weakly, flushing hot. "*Usually*, that's how it works. Take your stupid clothes off, Bones, I want to see you."

Bones laughs softly, but he starts stripping down so Jim figures he can forgive that. "I should have known," he grumbles lightly. "You just wanted live-in entertainment."

"Caught me," Jim says cheerfully, and lies back again to peel his pants open and skim them off, inside-out. He hauls his shirt over his head and crawls to his knees, reaches out while Bones is still kicking his legs free. "I have a very stressful job, you know. And you keep telling me I have to find ways to relax."

"I didn't mean by installing me as your own in-home release valve," Bones says, and wraps his arms around Jim's back and curves down over him, pressing him back until Jim has to twist his legs out from beneath himself to fall flat under Bones's weight.

"Hey, whatever works, right?" Jim is laughing as Bones catches his mouth, as Bones fits their bodies together just *so* and bites his lip and rubs down against him. He grabs Bones's head between both hands and kisses him hard, hungry for it, even more when Bones pinches at one of his nipples. He flips Bones over in a swift roll, straddles him triumphantly. "You should be proud of me, taking such good care of myself."

Bones cranes his neck up and latches onto Jim's shoulder, sucking hard. "Yeah," he mutters, and curls his fingers around Jim's cock, rubs his thumb over the head. "Jim Kirk, all grown up at last. It's like a dream come true."

"Not so fast," Jim gasps, and pushes helplessly into Bones's hand. "I still - still need some looking after, I think. I'm kind of a dumbass, remember?"

Bones stretches an arm out and fumbles in the nightstand drawer. "I'd argue the 'kind of' part, but yeah, I remember. You wanna fuck me?"

"Not -- not this time. You do it." Jim shifts so that Bones can work slick fingers into him, braces himself on the headboard. "God, Bones. Fuck. Shoulda done this a long time ago."

"We did this yesterday," Bones points out. "And this morning."

"Shut up - okay, okay, I'm good." Jim swats at his arm and reaches behind him to guide Bones's cock, sinks down slowly. "Ah, fuuuuck, that's good. Fuck. God. You know what I mean."

"I know," Bones says, through gritted teeth. He digs his feet into the bed and pushes up hard, again and again. He gets ahold of Jim's cock again and works it mercilessly, wrenching low sounds from deep in Jim's throat. "We've - *Christ*, yeah -- we've done it now, at least."

"Yeah," Jim pants. He closes his eyes and loses himself to the rhythm of riding Bones hard, of finding just the right angle and letting Bones pound it into him, the sensation and the unrelenting push towards release and the knowledge that he'll be feeling this one for awhile. "Bones," he whines, and hitches his hips desperately. Bones squeezes his thigh, quickens his hand on Jim's cock, slaps up into him. "Bones, fuck, you gotta --"

And leave it to Bones, Bones who knows him inside and out, to be able to get him there in a flash, to be able to touch him just so, make him gasp and groan and lurch forward, and brace himself on trembling arms as Bones grips his waist and goes for it.

"Jim," Bones says on a low, choked off breath, and settles slowly. "Christ. Jim."

Jim lowers slowly and nips at Bones's jaw. "mmph. Bones. You're so the best."

Bones palms his back and nudges their cheeks together, searches out Jim's mouth. "Don't forget it, either."

"Won't," Jim mutters, and shifts his weight off Bones. He rolls onto his back and stretches, yawns hugely. "So. What're the chances of getting breakfast out of you in the morning?"

Bones fumbles on the floor for one of the uncased pillows and slaps it down on top of Jim's face. "I'm a doctor, Jim, not a fucking homemaker. Make your own damn breakfast."

As Bones yanks the comforter up over them both, Jim tucks an arm under his head and grins at the ceiling. "Sorry, Bones. I can't cook worth a damn."


End file.
